


Devotion & Desire

by yours_eternally



Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Boot Worship, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Genital Piercing, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Sex Work, Verbal Humiliation, Violent Thoughts, Vomit Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘What do you say?’ Chris grunts, now setting a boot on his back, pressing until Ricky’s almost flat on his stomach.‘T-thank you,’ Ricky mumbles.‘What?’ Chris snaps, boot pressing harder into his already sore spine.‘Thank you,’ Ricky says again.'Please,'he gasps when Chris presses still harder.Ricky’s looking for a little stress relief and Mr Motionless is more than willing to provide.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Devotion & Desire

‘I’m here to see _Mr Motionless_ ,’ Ricky says in an undertone to the person frowning at him from the coat-check alcove. He feels ridiculous, unable to shake the feeling he’s accidentally doing something wrong. But their expression clears and they nod, turning from him to make a call. Ricky’s not sure what he expected. Perhaps for them to gasp or faint or even look him over speculatively. But then he guesses they must see clients for this guy all the time. He’s bringing the sensation that he’s under a huge spotlight all on his own.

He’s buzzed through a door to the left and directed to a small room for changing. The music from the club is muffled here, blurring out everything but the base that’s pounding in time to his heartbeat. There’s what looks like underwear, black and made of some stretchy material, hanging up next to the spotted mirror and Ricky guesses they’re for him. And now he realises why he’d been asked for his waist size during the initial consultation on the phone.

He shrugs off his jacket and pulls his t-shirt over his head, methodically stripping down. As he folds his clothes he can feel a familiar calm settling over him. He lets it happen, letting all the roughness of the day, all the shit from work, all questions and queries and decisions slough off him until he’s as smooth and as clear as glass. Now he yields up everything, body, mind and soul.

He wriggles into the hanging garment, adjusting the pair of zips in the front, frowning at his crotch.

‘Put your hair back,’ says a voice behind him. Ricky glances up into the mirror and jumps out his skin with a yelp because he’s just suddenly _there_. Like the fucking ghost from every horror movie ever. _Mr Motionless_. Chris — outside a scene — he’d explained gently on the phone.

He’s propped comfortably against the door frame, heavily made-up, wearing a black PVC catsuit with matching gloves, so none of his skin is visible below the script on his jaw. He's also wearing thick-soled boots, laced to his knees, that Ricky recognises from the pictures on his website. _Sweet fuck_. He looks so good Ricky can hardly keep himself upright. It takes a long moment for Ricky to realise his mouth is open.

‘W-what?’ Ricky says, remembering Chris had spoken to him. Chris smirks and Ricky notices his lips are painted shiny black and suddenly he’s unable to take his eyes off them.

‘Your hair,’ Chris repeats, ‘put it back— braid or a pony I don’t care. Just off your face.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Ricky mumbles, reaching to touch his hair as though he’d forgotten he had it. Chris clicks his tongue to get Ricky’s attention again and gestures for him to turn on the spot. Ricky obliges.

‘Are we starting?’ Ricky asks as he finishes his revolution facing Chris.

‘Not yet,’ Chris says, smirking, ‘I just wanted to,’ he shrugs, ‘ _—check._ ’

Ricky feels himself flush but Chris doesn’t speak again, straightening and moving out of sight without looking at him again.

Once he’s sure he’s ready, Ricky pads barefoot down the corridor, as he’d been instructed, fine hairs rising on his skin. The corridor and the room at the end of it are dark lit only by a reddish light. Ricky recognises this from the photographs on the website as well. The fluorescent strips are the source of the reddish light.

In front of the lights is a chair, huge and angular, made of some dark coloured metal. Chris is sitting in it waiting. One of his knees hooked over the arm, allowing the long limb to dangle in the air. The position pulls taut the material of his suit and reveals the zip that runs front to back, right between his legs.

Ricky stills. For a moment he thinks Chris hasn’t spotted him in the hazy light but then he clicks his tongue again, making Ricky flinch again.

‘Kneel.’

Ricky does, ducking his head for good measure. He hears Chris stand and walk over to him, every thump of his platform sole like a bass beat in Ricky’s stomach. Chris walks past him to stand at his back and Ricky closes his eyes trying to somehow extend his proprioception and sense what Chris is about to do. But, when Chris lightly touches the top of his head, Ricky jerks like he’s been jumped started and Chris snorts softly.

‘Twitchy, aren’t you?’

Ricky doesn’t respond, trying to swallow his heart out of his throat as Chris starts to pet his hair lightly.

‘Hm,’ Chris sighs, ‘—you’ve made a fucking mess of this, were your hands shaking?’ He takes Ricky’s braid in his glove, the static fabric catching the fine hairs sending tiny pinpricks of pain over Ricky’s scalp. ‘I asked you a question,’ Chris says, flicking Ricky’s ear. Ricky flinches at the sting, accidentally pulling his hair in Chris’ hand.

‘Yes,’ Ricky admits.

‘Why?’ Chris asks and Ricky doesn’t need to see him to know he’s smirking.

‘I was nervous,’ Ricky answers, biting his lip. Chris snorts.

‘Well, I guess I can fix it for you,’ Chris says and Ricky feels him press a knee into his centre back, between his shoulder blades, pushing him forwards as Chris keeps hold of his hair. Ricky makes a quiet sound of discomfort as an ache spreads across his shoulders and up his neck. His scalp is on fire as Chris keeps a firm grip on his hair, pulling his head all the way back.

Something drops to the floor to Ricky’s left and realises it’s a glove and then he feels Chris switch hands and the other glove drops. Chris starts pulling harder, this way and that, braiding his hair tight to his head. Ricky whines again and Chris drops him. Ricky falls onto his forearms, gasping, feeling his shoulder joints burning now they’ve been released from the position.

‘What do you say?’ Chris grunts, now setting a boot on his back, pressing until Ricky’s almost flat on his stomach.

‘T-thank you,’ Ricky mumbles.

‘What?’ Chris snaps, boot pressing harder into his already sore spine.

‘Thank you,’ Ricky says again. ‘ _Please_ ,’ he gasps when Chris presses still harder.

‘Better,’ Chris grunts, removing his boot and trotting back to his high-backed chair. ‘Let's get started. Come,’ he says to Ricky, clicking his tongue.

Ricky can practically hear the sound against his skin. Ricky fumbles himself up onto his hands and knees, crawling towards where Chris has taken up position again. After glancing at him once, Ricky keeps his head down. He’s strung out and almost painfully hard already, and looking at Chris right now is like looking into the sun.

‘That’s close enough,’ Chris says and Ricky feels the sole of his boot gently connect with the top of his head, halting him. Ricky stills, feeling his heart pounding. He can’t help wondering how much it would hurt for Chris to kick him in face, really kick him. The thought sends a sickly twist of heat through his gut.

‘C’mon,’ Chris says, shifting the boot so it nudges Ricky’s cheek. ‘You can hold it while you clean it for me.’

‘Thank you,’ Ricky says, before he’s told to, carefully taking hold of Chris’ leather-clad heel. Through his eyelashes, Ricky can see Chris smirking. He lifts the boot a little higher, angling his head so he can lick the sole, feeling the pattern in the rubber brush against his tongue. He licks again and again. Chris twitches his foot and Ricky takes the hint, letting his tongue lap over the leather upper and flick between the laces.

He feels Chris knot a hand in his hair again and feels his cock throb in response. He licks up one row of eyelets, hands cupping Chris’ calf. He licks over the laces again, using the full flat of his tongue, as he allows his eyes to move to Chris’. The familiarity of his tongue on leather, is soothing and gives him confidence. Chris looks right back at him, amused.

‘Enough,’ Chris says, hand tightening in his hair to pull Ricky off him. ‘I’ve thought of a better way to use your mouth.’

Ricky blinks, watching as Chris unzips his suit and takes out his cock. Ricky feels his mouth flood with saliva. _Fuck_. Chris lifts his cock to show Ricky, letting his thumb brush down the line of matching studs in the shaft. Ricky feels the hair at the nape of his neck pull and realises he’s popped off his heels and leant forwards in his eagerness.

‘What do you say?’ Chris says, palming his cock casually, letting his thumb rub over the head.

‘Can I suck your cock?’ Ricky says, breathless, feeling his hair pull again and not caring. Chris snorts, pulling him back sharply, sending a twinge over his scalp.

‘I see I’m going to have to teach you some fucking manners,’ Chris says, sighing, ‘—try again.’ Ricky flushes, biting his lip.

‘Please,’ he says softly, ‘ _please_ , let me suck your cock?’

‘Better,’ Chris grunts, ‘snap your fingers for me.’

‘What?’ Ricky asks, surprised.

‘Snap your fingers,’ Chris repeats. ‘—and don’t fucking _what_ me,’ he barks, tapping him in the ribs with the metal toe of his boot. It’s not very painful but Ricky shudders without meaning to and he sees Chris’ eyelashes flicker. Chris sets his heel against the fold of Ricky's hip, hand still tight in his hair, pressing experimentally as if seeing how much weight he can take. Ricky bites down on his reaction, feeling a flush uncurling beneath his skin.

Chris moves his boot over, heel now pressing into the soft part of Ricky’s stomach. The rubber is cold and rough against his skin, and Chris’ face is expressionless. Ricky wonders what it would feel like for Chris’ to stamp on his stomach, force the contents back into his throat, fracture his ribs and crush his organs. He’s shaking just slightly, but he’s sure Chris can feel it through the hand in his hair.

Chris shifts the boot down, dragging the patterned sole over Ricky’s bare skin, scraping it red, until his heel is fitted snugly between Ricky’s thighs. Ricky keens, toes curling at the weight on his cock, but Chris keeps his head forward so he can’t squirm back to relieve the pressure without ripping his hair out.

‘ _Please_ ,’ he whines again.

‘Pathetic,’ Chris snorts, dropping his hand and foot all at once so Ricky has to catch himself clumsily. The flush is throbbing in his cheeks in time with the pulse in cock. ‘Get the fuck up, c’mon— what do you say?’

‘Thank you,’ Ricky gasps out, still trembling.

‘Snap your fingers.’

Ricky does.

Chris reaches for him again, catching his hair and twisting it around his fist so Ricky can’t move his head at all. Chris drags him closer so Ricky has to shuffle on his knees until his face is nearly buried in Chris crotch.

‘Hands behind your back,’ Chris tells him, ‘but if you can’t take it you snap, understand?’ Ricky nods, locking his fingers behind him. Chris slaps him, hand tight in the hair at the nape of his neck so his head can’t turn around. Ricky feels his cheek stinging and tingling. ‘Fuckin’ speak.'

‘I understand,’ Ricky says, swallowing. Chris doesn’t speak again, letting him go to snag something from the small table next to them. Realising it’s a condom, Ricky watches as Chris rips the packet and rolls it down the length of his cock. It’s black and when it’s Chris has got it rolled all the way down the base it looks like an extension of his suit. Ricky swallows again, suddenly hyper aware how sticky and wet the inside of his mouth is.

‘Open,’ Chris says and Ricky does. Chris catches his hair in one hand and traps his tongue between his thumb and forefinger of the other, pulling, Ricky can feel the tug right down to the back of his throat. Chris lets him go and takes hold of his cock instead. He guides the head into Ricky’s mouth and then shifts forward in his seat as he presses it deeper.

Ricky can’t help tensing, trying to swallow his gag reflex but that just makes it worse and he retches, sweating prickling across his back as his shivers. If Chris notices, he doesn’t seem to care, hands still tight on Ricky’s head as he starts to flex his hips into him. Chris’ thrusts are shallow at first, cock sliding on the back of Ricky's tongue. The movement makes Ricky retch again, spine curving as he tenses, shivering.

Chris pulls him back a little but not completely, eyes on his face. His thumb smudging beneath his eyes where they’re watering.

‘Pretty,’ he murmurs and Ricky feels himself flush, glowing with pleasure to have pleased him. He tips his head up as much as he can, an invitation for Chris to continue. So he does, cock sliding back into Ricky’s mouth. Ricky's still tender shoulder joints are starting ache from holding his hands back.

Chris fucks into him, leaving Ricky breathless and gasping with his gut twisted up with a raw, acidic kind of arousal. Ricky can feel the studs in Chris’ cock against his tongue, even through the condom, and wonders what they’d feel like bare and in his hole, ripping up his insides. Ricky tries to swallow again, feeling his gut twitch inwards at the thought. Chris grunts and Ricky feels him tense.

Chris pushes him back, cock slipping from his mouth. Ricky drops back on his heels, panting to his breath back. As he watches, Chris slips off the condom and Ricky can see the come at the head of his shaft and wants it in his mouth. Chris strokes his thumb through it before bringing to digit to his lips to lick. _Fuck_. Ricky can feel his pulse pounding through his cock.

‘What do you say?’ he murmurs, dark eyes on his face.

‘Thank you,’ Ricky says, voice rougher than he’s expecting. He swallows again and Chris smirks leaning forward to catch his chin.

‘You see— even you have uses,’ Chris tells him before dropping his chin. ‘Face away,’ Chris instructs, pointing behind Ricky, leaning back in the chair again, elbow on the arm, chin coming to rest on his fist. Ricky does as he's told, sitting on his heels.

‘Head down, knees apart,’ Chris says, nudging the inside Ricky’s calf with his boot. Ricky complies quickly, getting onto all fours with his head bowed. ‘ _Down_ ,’ Chris repeats, ‘head down on the fucking floor.’ Ricky feels the boot nudge his inner knee again and drops his head quickly, until his forehead is on the painted boards of the floor.

Ricky can feel all the blood pooling in his mottled cheeks with the change in position. He can practically feel Chris’ eyes taking in the curve of his ass, the swell of the erection between his thighs. He can feel the sole of Chris’ boot against his thigh; it’s soothingly cool against his flushed skin.

‘You want to come?’ Chris asks, boot tapping absently making Ricky’s thigh wobble a little.

‘Yes,’ Ricky says, muffled by the floorboard. ‘Yes, _please_ ,’ he adds, quickly remembering.

‘Go ahead,’ Chris says. Ricky hesitates, unsure what Chris wants, but then he feels the boot shift as Chris lifts it enough to press against his cock before dropping it again with thunk. ‘Go on. Fuck yourself off on my boot.’

Ricky feels heat glut into his gut, skin hot with humiliation as he clumsily pushes his knees wider so that when he starts to rock his hips Chris’ laces rub and drag over his clothed cock. Chris sits unmoving, heel on the floor with his toes pointed up, so Ricky can fuck back into the curve of his ankle joint.

‘Keep your head down,’ Chris says when Ricky tries to move, attempting to get a better angle on now very tender cock. Ricky has to bite back a frustrated noise, not wanting to give Chris any reason to stop him. He works his hips faster, rough thrusts, ass pressing back against Chris’ shin. Then he eases up, panting, skin tingling with the friction of the moment. He starts rolling his hips faster, feeling a loose strand of hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His cock is pulsing. And he’s so close if he could just—

Ricky groans, feeling the orgasm catch and spark through his whole body. His hips jerk back into Chris as he arches and shudders, coming so hard it leaves his ears ringing.

Ricky gasps again, letting himself go limp, cheek pressed against the cool floor. He feels Chris shift, carefully extracting his boot from between his thighs, making him shiver again, oversensitive. Ricky exhales slowly, trying to get his breathing back under some semblance of control.

He’s ended up in some awkward approximation of extended child’s pose and he can hear Chris’ boots on the floor as he circles around to crouch next to him. He feels a light tap on his cheek and flicks his eyes open with an effort.

‘You in there, Mr Olson?’ Chris asks, peering at him. He’s softened somehow, although he doesn’t look any different. Ricky likes the way the neon reflects in his black eyes giving them a red sheen. Ricky blinks, remembering Chris had asked him a question.

‘Yes, yeah,’ he says, blinking more and making to straighten up.

‘Slow, slow,’ Chris says, putting a hand on his shoulder and the other on his forehead to help him sit up. ‘You’re gonna have a wicked headrush.’

Ricky is glad of his supporting hands when he gets upright and all his blood drains out of his head, whiting-out his vision for a moment. When he’s sure Ricky’s not going to pass out Chris lets him go and steps back.

‘Take a breather,’ he says, snagging his phone from the top of one of the cabinets that line the walls of the room. ‘You’ve got a little time,’ he adds, checking. Ricky nods, still trying to breathe evenly.

‘How was that then?’ Chris asks, trotting over to sit on his chain again, apparently content to make small talk until Ricky’s time is up. ‘I know we’re still getting used to each other.’

‘It was—’ Ricky starts, feeling like every descriptive word he’s ever heard or read is crowding into his mouth at once. ‘Really good,’ he settles for lamely, ‘—you’re so—’ Ricky spreads his hands and Chris laughs.

‘I know, baby,’ he says, grinning at Ricky, ‘are you in love?’

‘Sure,’ Ricky snorts, flushing, and Chris laughs more.

‘Good,’ he says, still grinning then he sighs, ‘—okay, kitten, I’ve got a six thirty I need to get ready for. There’s a shower in the room you got changed in and a hamper for these,’ he indicates what Ricky’s wearing and Ricky flushes more, nodding. ‘And,’ he pauses and Ricky glances up at him. He presses his lips together thoughtfully.

‘Look, make another appointment, okay?’ he says at last. Chris gets up and walks out of the room before Ricky can say another word.

Ricky stares after him, distantly hearing a door close with a muffled thump.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a part of something else but it got out of hand so it's here now.. 
> 
> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


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